


A Less than Ideal Anniversary

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1798, Anniversary, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, New York City, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: Hamilton rushes home from Philadelphia at breakneck speed to ensure he and Eliza have an amazing anniversary together. The virus he picked up along the way has other ideas.__A fluffy hamliza sickfic, based on a (shamefully old) prompt: "Alex gets sick with the stomach flu on his wedding anniversary, and tries to hide it."





	A Less than Ideal Anniversary

**December 1798**

“Breakfast!” A chorus of high little voices echoed down the hall, accompanied by a veritable stampede of children’s feet thumping along towards the master bedroom. Alexander started suddenly from sleep and  rolled over with a low groan, turning his face into the pillow to block out the early daylight. The bed curtains were yanked back a moment later, their metals rings clattering into each other from the force of the pull.

“Johnny,” Eliza chided, sitting up beside him.

Johnny had already leapt up onto the bed and was bouncing on his knees with excitement. The queasiness Alexander had been fighting while traveling the day before made an abrupt and unwelcome reappearance. The general achiness and malaise lingered as well. Damn, he thought, swallowing a moan and lying still as possible in a bed being jostled by a six year old.

“We made breakfast for you and Papa,” Johnny said proudly. “All by ourselves.”

“He didn’t go near the stove or the fire,” Pip assured.

“Happy anniversary,” Alex added belatedly.

“Oh, thank you, honey. Johnny, stop it,” Eliza said, bringing the younger boy’s bouncing to a sudden halt. God bless her. “That was very thoughtful of you all, but I think Papa needs a little more time to sleep.”

“But we made breakfast,” Johnny whined, resuming his bounce.

Eliza stilled the boy again. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, all right?”

The proposal was meant with grudging acceptance, and footsteps clomped back out the door and down the hall. Alexander felt the mattress adjusting as Eliza laid back beside him. He peeled one reluctant eye open and found her face close to his on the opposite pillow.

“Morning,” she greeted with a wry little smile. “Sleep well?”

He hummed, non-committal. He hadn’t actually mentioned his growing discomfort to her when he arrived home yesterday in the late evening. After rushing home from Philadelphia at breakneck speed to be with her on their eighteenth anniversary, the last thing he wanted was to spend the day sick in bed, as she’d undoubtedly insist if she knew how lousy he’d been feeling for the last day or so. “Just…still tired.”

“You don’t have to come down to breakfast,” she said, scooting closer to him. Her lips pressed against his sweetly as her arm curled around him in an embrace. “I’ll deal with thundering herd. You sleep.”

“I’ll get up,” he said, forcing himself up onto an elbow. Ignoring how weak and shivery his muscles felt, he rolled himself towards Eliza and gave her a more lingering kiss. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders in turn, pulling him atop her.

“Mm,” she sighed when their lips parted. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

“Happy anniversary, my lovely, darling angel.”

Her loving gaze turned scrutinizing as she studied him. After a beat, she asked, “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” he said.

“You’re sure? Your color looks off,” she observed, raising a hand to feel his cheek.

He didn’t think he had a fever, but he shied away on the off chance. “I’m fine. A little fatigued, is all.”

“If you say so.” Her mouth remained set in a thin, disbelieving line.  

“I do.” He raised his eyebrows, sure she’d catch the double meaning of the response. The cheap allusion to their wedding day earned him a soft chuckle along with an eye roll. She pushed him off of her and made to get up.

He forced himself out of bed by sheer will and bundled himself into his banyan before stumbling downstairs after Eliza. The heavy scent of charred bacon wafted up the stairs, making his stomach turn. How in the world was he going to make it through breakfast?

“Ta da!” Johnny said as they entered the dining room, his arms outstretched before the table, set with their finest china. A platter of runny eggs sat in the center of table beside the charred bacon and a stack of slightly blackened Johnnycakes.

Jamie struggled to pull out a heavy chair. “Here you go, Mama.”

“How lovely, thank you,” Eliza said, lowering herself into offered seat. She caught Alexander’s eye and remarked, “Look at how sweet our little angels are.”  

“I made the Johnnycakes, Papa,” Angelica said, little William bouncing happily on her hip. “I know they’re your favorites.”

“Yummy,” he said, trying for excited and praying his face hadn’t turned as green as it felt. When he sat down, he felt his daughter’s eyes on him, waiting for him to take a cake. He placed two on his plate, along with a single strip of bacon.

“I was in charge of eggs,” Alex said.

He fought back a groan, smiled, and scooped the runny eggs onto his plate as well. “I’m sure everything is delicious.”

 “Hey, Papa?” Johnny asked.

“Yes?”

“Mama got me a new suit while you were away. Want to see?”

“Honey, why don’t you wait until after breakfast—” Eliza began.

He interjected, “No, no. I’d like to see it.” Anything to keep himself distracted.

Johnny tore from the room, his flat feet pounding up the steps in an instant.

The other children loitered around them, all eyeing the spread with interest. Eliza smiled at him before offering, “Would you all like to join us?”

“Can we?” Alex asked hopefully.

“Help yourselves,” he agreed, waving at the empty seats. “The more, the merrier.”

They all rushed to find some of their more casual plates, dropping them onto the table in front of their chairs and scrambling for bacon and Johnnycakes. In the flurry of forks and elbows, Alexander rolled his shoulders subtly, trying to work out his achiness. Glancing over, he saw Eliza watching him with a distinct frown.

“Sore?” she inquired mildly.

“Stagecoach,” he pleaded.

The skeptical line was back on her lips. “Are you not eating?”

“I’m eating,” he said, looking back at his plate. His stomach gave a displeased gurgle at the sight and smell combined, and he swallowed deliberately, sucking in a breath through his nose. The eggs certainly wouldn’t stay down, not a chance. He had doubts about the Johnnycakes and bacon, as well. To stall for time, he poured himself some coffee from the pot on the table.

Johnny’s flat footed run save him from having to actually sip the coffee. He skidded to a stop in the dining room and turned, modeling a newly cut suit of fine red fabric. “See Papa? Mama let me pick out the fabric and the buttons.”

“Very nice,” he praised.

“He’s as picky as you when it comes to clothes,” Eliza added.

That made him smile. “My blossoming little gentleman.”

Johnny preened for a moment, then noticed his siblings attacking the breakfast without him. “We get to eat too?”

“Mama and Papa said we could,” Jamie said around a mouthful of egg.

“I want bacon,” Johnny said, approaching the table and grabbing for a piece.

“You need to change first,” Eliza said. “I don’t want you getting your new suit dirty. That’s for church on Sunday.”

“But then the bacon will be gone!”

“I’ll give you mine,” Alexander promised. The boy could have the whole plate, so far as he was concerned.

Johnny rushed off as fast as he’d appeared.

Alexander rubbed a finger to his temple,  then pinched his nostrils shut for a blessed second, in the guise of itching his nose. His stomach was increasingly protesting the assault of the food smells. A full body shiver stole over him.

“I’m going to stoke the fire,” he said, pushing away from the table. “It’s chilly in here.”

“I don’t feel chilly,” Eliza said, scrutinizing him with renewed interest. “You’re cold?”

“A little,” he shrugged, hastening towards the fireplace. Even as he said it, though, he felt a wave of heat washing over him, sweat beading down his back, and understood it wasn’t the temperature of the room that was the problem. Still, he stoked the fire and let himself lean against the mantle, the smoky smell fighting away the omnipresent bacon odor.

Nausea was building in his abdomen in a way that was becoming hard to ignore. Placing his fingers to his mouth, he tried breathing deeply. That didn’t seem to be quelling the sensation. His stomach lurched, and he swallowed.

“I need to excuse myself a moment,” he mumbled, rushing out of the dining room and not waiting for a response.

He passed Johnny on the stairs, though the boy paid him no attention, intent as he was to get himself a piece of bacon. He made it to the bedroom, snapped the door shut behind him, and stumbled towards the chamber pot with desperation. After heaving miserably for several awful moments, he spat, sat back on his haunches, and let out a ragged breath.

Well, this was going splendidly.

Their last anniversary had been filled with misery and distrust as they dealt with the aftermath of his betrayal and the publication of his pamphlet. Things were better now, though. The last year had wrought wonderful changes in their marriage, bringing them so much closer together. He wanted to show her how much she meant to him. The very day he was meant to be demonstrating to his wife how grateful he was for the second chance, and he couldn’t even make it through breakfast.

The mere thought of the food sent him back over the chamber pot. He was still hunched over, breathing hard, when a hand landed on his shoulder blade. He jumped, groaned, and glanced to the side to see his wife hovering over him, concerned.

“I’m not feeling so well,” he finally admitted.

“I noticed.” Eliza lowered herself down to her knees and held a handkerchief out to him. “I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want to be sick today. And I wasn’t,” he waved a hand towards the chamber pot vaguely, “before.”  

“I don’t think you have a choice in the matter, honey. If you’re sick, you’re sick.”

“But it’s our anniversary.”

“I know, sweetheart.” She reached out and touched her fingers to his forehead, then brushed them back through his hair. “You feel a little warm.”

He nodded. “I figured.”

“Still feel like you need to be sick?”

He nodded again, letting his full misery finally show on his face.

“All right, sweetheart,” she cooed, hand coming down to rest on his back. “You’re all right. I’m right here.” 

A few hours later found him curled up on their bed, green to the gills and sick as ever.

“I brought you some tea. Chamomile. It’ll help settle your belly,” Eliza said, sitting beside him on the bed. Even the slight movement of the mattress under her weight was enough to make him retch dryly over the basin she’d brought him. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Don’t want anything,” he managed when the wave of nausea had ebbed.

“You need to drink,” she insisted. “You’ve lost all your fluids. I can bring you some water if you’d rather?”

“Just let me die,” he said, putting enough melodrama into his tone to let her know he wasn’t serious.

She chuckled softly. “No.” 

“Eighteen years. We had a good run.”

“I’m not done with you yet. So, water or tea?”

He gave her a baleful look, but it didn’t seem to move her. “Tea,” he decided. Chamomile usually did help.  

 Eliza coaxed him up into a seated position and helped him sip the tea, his arms too weak and shaky to properly hold it himself. He managed a few sips with no ill effect. When his stomach started to protest, he turned away, and Eliza placed the cup back on the bedside table.

She sat back against the pillows, and he curled up beside her, his head on her chest. Her hands rubbed over his back soothingly.  He sighed, content, and drifted towards sleep.

 The light had changed noticeably in the room when he woke again. He was resting on a pillow, a puddle of drool leaving a damp mark under the corner of his mouth. Wrinkling his nose, he adjusted over, and called, “Betsey?”

“I’m here, honey.” She stepped out of the dressing room, a pile of fresh laundry in her arms. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” he said, running a hand over his eyes. “You just weren’t here.”

“You were pretty out. You didn’t even wake when I moved you over.”

“Why’d you move me?”

“I had the house and the children to manage. And you’re sick. You needed your rest.”

“I was resting.”

She moved closer to fluff the pillows for him. “Feeling any better?”

“A little,” he granted. His stomach had mostly settled to a general sour feeling, not fully back to normal, but a vast improvement to earlier. “I think I’m on the mend.”

“Good.” She kissed his forehead. “You feel cooler, too. Do you want another pillow?”

“You were better than the pillows.”

“You want me to get back under you?”

A wicked glint appeared in his eyes, and he could see she'd caught the double entendre a moment too late. “Always.”

She nudged his arm affectionately even as she sat back on the bed. “Naughty boy.”

He rested his head on her chest again. The gentle thrum of her heartbeat relaxed him immediately. “This is nice,” he muttered.

She was playing with his hair, and teased,  “You’ll take any excuse to snuggle, huh?”  

He adjusted to peek up at her. “I’m sorry I got sick today. This wasn’t at all my plan.”

“What was your plan?”

“A bottle of wine. A book of poetry. Cuddling by the fireplace. And that was just the beginning.” He gave her an exaggerated wink, which made her laugh.

“We’ll do it tomorrow. Or whenever you’re feeling fully recovered,” she said.  

“That’s not the same.”

“Sure it is. After eighteen years of marriage, one day doesn’t make a difference. So long as we’re together, that’s all I need.”

He smiled. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” She dropped a kiss to his head. “Rest now.”

With a sleepy sigh, he obeyed.  

**Author's Note:**

> Hamilton genuinely did rush home from Philadelphia in December 1798 to ensure he and Eliza would be together on their anniversary. (His letters home that winter whining about how long things in Philadelphia are taking are very cute.) He also suffered from particularly bad health that winter. While I don't know whether he was sick on their anniversary, this certainly felt like the best fit for the prompt requesting to see him sick on his anniversary. Hope you all enjoyed! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos/comments are very much appreciated! :)


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